


never was a heart so pure (never was a step so sure)

by True_Believer



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt Ezra, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s01e15 Fire Across the Galaxy, Space family, hurt Kanan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/True_Believer/pseuds/True_Believer
Summary: They made it out safe, but not entirely sound. When medical emergencies arise in the immediate aftermath of Kanan's rescue, the Ghost crew discovers that the mission isn't over yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! It's been a long, long time since I've written fanfiction, but I couldn't resist Rebels. 
> 
> Friendly request -- PLEASE do not tell me anything about what happens after the mid-point of season 2. I am going very slowly through this show, to make it last as long as possible, and I'm trying to avoid big spoilers. Thanks for understanding!

Hera had never felt her heart to be so full.

Her entire crew, together and whole. Fulcrum, or rather Ahsoka, speaking freely with them all. Hera’s rebel mission was finally coming into harmony with her personal mission – her _family_ – and the relief was almost too much to bear.

And they were all safe, for the time being, if not completely sound. She was of course still worried about Kanan, whose ordeal was etched in the fine lines of his face, and Ezra, who literally had fresh scars arcing across his cheekbone. Both of them should probably have been getting some well-earned rest. But Kanan had firmly declared that before anything else, all he wanted was to sit with them all for a while and have a bite to eat. (Besides, Ezra was attached so stubbornly to his side that it might not have been worth the fight to try to disentangle them.)

So they had all crammed into the Ghost’s dejarik booth, cradling mugs of rek tea and sharing a platter of precious meiloorun slices. “Better to start off slow, with food,” she’d told Kanan gently.

They were making blissfully inane small talk, as if nothing horrific had happened over the past several days, when Ezra flopped abruptly into Kanan’s side and cuddled up to him like a sleepy loth-cat. Kanan chuckled and wrapped an arm around his padawan, then frowned gently at what he must have felt in one of Ezra’s ubiquitous pockets.

“What’s this?” mused Kanan, poking at it.

“Oh,” said Ezra, sounding a little embarrassed, and a little dazed. He pulled out Kanan’s holocron, and Ahsoka’s eyes grew wide in recognition.

“I know I shouldn’t have been going through your stuff, but—I just really missed you, Kanan. And it made me feel a little closer to you. Listening to the message. Master Kenobi’s message, I mean. You know. Just… a little closer…”

“What’d the message say?” asked Zeb, curious.

“A reminder… trust… trusting in… the Force…” mumbled Ezra. His speech was slowing down, and his words were starting to slur. He must have been truly exhausted. _But of course he’s exhausted,_ thought Hera to herself, with a pang of guilt. _He’s been carrying a burden no child should have to bear for the last 10 days. And I couldn’t help him enough._

On the other side of the bench, Sabine was frowning deeply. “Kid, look at me,” she commanded him suddenly, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“Anytime,” murmured Ezra, but Sabine didn’t bother even to roll her eyes. She was staring at Ezra in alarm.

“His pupils are unequal. I think he’s bleeding in his brain.”

The thought was so horrifying that it took a few seconds for Hera to process the statement. Finally she managed to ask, “He hit his head?”

“He fell,” said Kanan, looking stricken.

“Is there… something wrong with the… with the gravity? I feel…” Ezra trailed off, leaning even more steeply to the side.

“Ezra!” shouted Zeb, and it was sobering to hear him call Ezra by name rather than by insult.

“Just a headache… I’m okay.” But there was no mistaking now the pain in his voice and eyes. Hera thought he might be about to cry.

“Chopper!” ordered Ahsoka. “We need you to get the med droid, right away.” For once, Chopper didn’t argue; he just scuttled off in the direction of the transport vessel the Ghost had docked with. Ahsoka then turned to Kanan. “Do you have any skill in Force healing?”

“A little,” Kanan admitted hesitantly.

“We’ll do it together,” she replied. “We need to stop any bleeding quickly. You know him best, so you guide us, and I’ll hold gentle pressure.”  
Kanan released a shaky breath, then nodded in determination. They settled Ezra between the two of them and touched their hands to either side of his head, wearing matching expressions of focused calm. Hera sensed a wave of serenity washing over her, and wondered if it was because of how they were using the Force, or just how Kanan’s presence always made her feel. At first, Ezra looked like he couldn’t decide whether he was about to pass out or be sick. But moment by moment, some of the pain seemed to ease from his frame, and he started to look slightly less awful.

Then suddenly, Kanan’s eyes flew open and he paled and pitched forward, barely managing not to slide out of his seat.

Hera surged forward to grab his arm, steadying him. “Kanan! What’s wrong?” He didn’t reply; it seemed as if it was all he could do just to see straight.

Hera glanced at Ahsoka pleadingly and asked, “Is it—is this a Force thing?” She had seen him overextend himself in the Force before, and could remember waiting helplessly for Kanan to come back to himself.

Ahsoka leaned forward as if to place her hands on Kanan’s head, and then seemed to think better of it. She reached for his wrist instead, and held two fingers to his pulse point for a long, silent moment. Her eye’s drifted closed, and her brow furrowed. Finally, she spoke: “It’s not the Force. It’s his heart.”

Hera felt as if her own heart had suddenly dropped to her feet. Zeb and Sabine stiffened sharply, and even Ezra managed to push through his mental haze to exclaim, “What?”

“It’s all right, Ezra,” breathed Kanan.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t all right. First Ezra badly hurt, now Kanan… Hera grabbed desperately at Kanan’s wrist, trying to stay calm as she waited to feel his pulse. And waited. And waited – finally, there it was. But the space between beats was uneven, and too long. “It’s a mis-rhythm,” she realized aloud.

Ahsoka nodded, crossing her arms. “Electricity is one of the Empire’s favorite interrogation tools,” she said. “Heart mis-rhythms are a common side effect.”

Just then, Chopper bustled back in with the med droid in tow, warbling loudly. The med droid appeared to be an old model, not one that Hera had seen before.

It addressed Kanan and Ezra: “Hello. I am Emdee-Ayteen. Initiating: clinical encounter.” None too gently, the med droid began to examine them, nudging them into position, checking vitals, and performing quick scans with mechanical efficiency.

Hera saw Ezra flinch away from the droid’s cold metal sensors, more than once. She lowered her voice and asked Ahsoka, “Is there no medic available?”

Ahsoka met her eyes apologetically. “I’m so sorry. But we left in a hurry, as soon as Chopper told us what was going on. There wasn’t a chance to stock up on med supplies, or even to get a medic on board.”

The med droid beeped to get their attention, and proclaimed that the assessment was complete.

“Recommendation for Patient A: urgent surgery to evacuate intracranial hematoma. Without surgery, pressure from hematoma may result in herniation of brain. Odds of survival without immediate surgery: 1 to 1. Odds of full recovery without immediate surgery—”

Kanan’s grip tightened around Ezra’s shoulder, and Ahsoka spoke up: “We don’t have a brain surgeon on hand, and we won’t until we arrive at the rendezvous site 12 hours from now. Are you saying you’re programmed to do surgery?”

“Negative. Diagnostic capabilities only.”

Chopper groaned in frustration, and Hera had to agree. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” muttered Ahsoka. “Okay, so surgery is out for now. Give us solutions. What can we do?”

“It is imperative to prevent further bleeding and to promote resorption of blood. Secondary recommendation: bacta is ideal. Preferred route: epidural injection.”

“I assume you’re incapable of doing that, as well?” The droid confirmed it, and Ahsoka nodded. “Fine, that’s fine. I can do the injection; I’ve had some experience with this sort of thing. What about your other patient?”

“Recommendation for Patient B: full immersion in bacta tank, to address cardiac mys-rhythm, renal threat, burn injuries, rib fracture, hematomas, dehydration...”

Hera felt her stomach turn at the litany of problems. She barely heard Ahsoka remind the med droid that they did not have access to a bacta tank while in hyperspace. Emdee-Ayteen acknowledged this and suggested an injection of intravascular bacta instead. This should have settled things, but after a few more minutes of processing the logistics of the plan, the med droid screeched: “Critical error: Bacta supplies low. Insufficient to treat both Patient A and Patient B.”

Hera had never seen Fulcrum—or Ahsoka, rather—look so distressed. Ahsoka turned to her and said, “I’m so sorry, Hera. We really were not prepared for this level of medical need—”

“We’ll make it work,” Hera assured her. “And we’ll make sure to pick up some med supplies on one of our next missions. In the meantime, Emdee, can we split the bacta between them?”

“Negative. If bacta supply is subdivided, there will not be enough to help either patient.”

Sabine pressed further: “Are there any other treatment options for Kanan?”

Emdee-Ayteen whirred thoughtfully before responding. “Patient B is increasingly symptomatic and hypotensive. Without temporary pacing to restore normal rhythm, or bacta to repair cardiac signal conduction system, odds of death are—”

“You need to stop that,” interrupted Ahsoka sternly.

“It’s okay, guys,” said Kanan. “I’ve got a plan.” His voice was so confident that if she couldn’t see him in front of her, Hera might have imagined that he had the situation under control. But Kanan was breathing heavily, and he seemed to be working very hard to keep his gaze focused.

He announced: “Ezra will take all the bacta.”

There was an immediate chorus of objections. Ezra protested vaguely too, though it was hard to be sure how much of the conversation he was following.

“But love,” said Hera. “What about you?” What she didn’t say, but hoped he knew: _I need you too much to let you go, again._

For a moment, Kanan’s bravado faded, and she could see the ghosts he’d carried every day for 15 years. He spoke quietly: “On the Star Destroyer, while I was fighting the Inquisitor. Ezra fell, and I thought I’d lost him – just like I lost my master all those years ago. I can’t do it again.” Hera rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Besides,” Kanan added, attempting to flash his obnoxious grin again, “I won’t need the bacta anyway.”

“Wha’dya mean, you won’t need it? Didn’t you hear what that droid just said?” burst out Zeb, aggravated.

“I’m not going to need bacta, because Sabine here is going to build me a pacer.”

“Excuse me?” Sabine retorted, nearly managing to disguise the fear in her voice with a thick layer of teenage indignance.

“Sabine,” he coaxed imploringly, “it’s the only way. And it’s not like it has to be a masterpiece—it just has to last the next 12 hours, till we get to the rendezvous. I know you can do it, Sabine; I believe in you.”

Sabine just stared at him for a few moments, eyes wide in outraged incredulity. When Kanan showed no sign of backing down, and no one else showed any sign of intervening, she threw her hands in the air in disgust. “Fine!” she said. “I’ll have it done in an hour.”

“Make it 45 minutes?” said Kanan hopefully. Sabine scowled and stormed out of the room

“Zeb,” said Hera quietly, “maybe you can see if Sabine needs help with anything. I’ll stay and lend a hand here.” The Lasat let out a long exhale and nodded.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered, as he headed out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Zeb grew increasingly apprehensive as he approached Sabine’s room. The thin walls couldn’t block the sound of clinking metal and muffled curses, and Zeb was pretty sure he heard the phrase “lousy Kanan plan” at least a couple times. Working up his courage, he knocked and then palmed the door open.

Sabine was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by electronic parts and wires, piecing them together with rather more force than was strictly necessary. Apparently the Mandalorian penchant for violence extended to engineering, and as he watched, Sabine snarled and threw an uncooperative energy cell into the corner. It hit the wall with a loud bang, ricocheted down to the floor, and then slowly rolled back towards her in a wide circle. If anything, based on the expression on her face, the return of the energy cell made her even angrier.

Zeb swallowed. “Uh. Need a hand?”

She didn’t say yes—just kept shoving parts together and glaring—but she didn’t say no either, so Zeb took that as tacit permission to join her. He sat down warily on the floor, keeping a judicious distance. Sabine hated to be crowded, especially when her emotions were running high. Zeb couldn’t say he blamed her.

He was still awkwardly wondering how to start the conversation— _What’s wrong?_ seemed like a stupid question given the present circumstances—when Sabine started it herself. She didn’t look at him as she spoke, keeping her focus instead on the circuit she was rapidly assembling.

“All this time, all I’ve wanted is for Kanan and Hera to trust me. And yeah, I know they do. But maybe it’d be better if they didn’t. At least not with their lives—not like _this_.” She gestured sharply at the parts scattered around her knees, like miniature minefields on a battlefield.

“Kit,” he said slowly. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? Come on, Zeb. Don’t try to coddle me. If I’d just uploaded the data spike a little earlier, we would have been out of there before the Empire arrived. Kanan wanted me to be fast. And I wasn’t fast enough.”

Zeb was already shaking his head. “Your part of the mission went fine. You did good—”

“I _know_ that, Zeb! I know my own abilities, and I know I’m good at what I do. But it wasn’t enough! I wasn’t enough, and they got Kanan, and they hurt him, and now he might be _dying_ and Ezra too. And he’s counting on me to karking _save his life_ , when I couldn’t even save him from getting captured in the first place!”

At this point, she was full-on shouting. Zeb wondered distantly whether Fulcrum could hear the yelling from the other room, but then again, the _Ghost_ crew had bigger things to worry about right now than a little social awkwardness with their guest. Sabine was glaring furiously at him, eyes a little wet, tensed for a fight. But Zeb didn’t yell back. He didn’t leave, either; he just kept sitting there with her, holding her gaze.

After a long moment, Sabine quietly added, “You can hand me that energy cell, over there.” He did so.

He wasn’t good at this sort of thing. Typically Hera was the best for motherly wisdom; failing that, Kanan had recently gotten pretty good at spouting Jedi philosophy (for whatever that was worth). But Zeb was the only one here right now, so his measly attempts would have to suffice.

Zeb handed Sabine a coil of thick red wire; she took it from him absently. He sighed heavily, and then before he could change his mind, blurted out: “Did I ever tell you about my friend Jogan?”

She didn’t say anything; they both knew he hadn’t. Zeb never told stories from his past, or at least, never without the assistance of excessive amounts of Corellian brandy. But these were desperate times, so here he was, stuck with desperate measures.

“We were buddies, back on Lasan. Growing up, he was always pushing himself. Always wanted to be stronger, braver. A protector. He wanted to be the captain of the Honor Guard, one of the most respected positions a Lasat could have.”

Zeb sighed, and stretched out his legs. “At first, it wasn’t so easy to get people to take him seriously. You gotta understand, he wasn’t from a well-known family, and he wasn’t the biggest or strongest guy. But he had heart, and determination.”

Sabine was setting up some sort of monitoring screen. Zeb used his toes to pass her a small screwdriver, and she nodded her thanks as he continued his story.

“Jogan had to earn every inch of their trust. But he did earn it. He spent hours and hours practicing to win the right to use the bo-rifle. And when it came time for the Wilderness Trials, he pushed past the dangers of the dust season and set an all-time course record.

“Just like he dreamed, he was chosen to be captain of the High Honor Guard—the youngest in Lasat history. It meant that the safety of the royal family and every Lasat was his duty. A few still doubted if he could be trusted with that kind of responsibility, at such a young age, and ‘course he hated that. But y’know what bothered Jogan the most?”

“The fact that he was named after a fruit?”

Later on, Zeb would take pride in the fact that he only spluttered a little bit in response. But for now, he just sternly said, “ _No_. I’ll have you know that Jogan is a traditional name on Lasan. Or it was. But that’s not the point. The point is: what scared him, deep down, was that most people did trust him. Because he didn’t want to let them down. It was one thing when he had to depend on his strength and skill for his own survival; it was another thing to have the people he cared about place their lives in his hands.

“We had a long talk about it once, him and me, the night before he started as captain. We walked along the edge of the Highest City, and looked out at the summer cloud spirals. It was nice. Peaceful. But I could tell he was worried. And I said to him, ‘Jogan, if you care so much about the people of Lasan, and they say you’ll be a great captain, the least you can do is take their word for it.'

“A couple weeks later, the royal palace came under attack by our old enemies, from beyond the mountains. The king had just passed away, and y’know how it is—”

“Strike during transitions of power,” said Sabine.

“Yeah. They thought we’d be weak, disorganized. But Jogan set aside his fears, and he lived up to his people’s trust that day. He led the palace defense boldly, and drove back the attackers. Those old enemies never dared show their faces again, not for as long as… Not for as long as Jogan was captain.”

They were both quiet for a few minutes after that.

“You don’t usually talk about Lasan, Zeb,” said Sabine. She paused, then added: “Thanks.”

“S’alright,” Zeb murmured. “But kit, listen. You know Kanan trusts you. So maybe you can trust him, too. Trust that he knows what he’s doing when he puts his faith in you.”

“I can try,” she said.

That would have to be enough. After all, what else could a being do?

The pacing machine was done. Sabine cast about for something to test it with, before dashing out to the galley and returning a minute later with a scalefish from the conservator. (Unusual for them to have fresh fish on hand; someone must have purchased it with a special occasion in mind.) Sabine connected two leads to it, pushed a button, and watched. The dead fish didn’t sizzle or steam, but it did jump, and Zeb thought he might have seen blue sparks for a moment. Maybe he was imagining it. He flinched back a little in alarm, but Sabine seemed satisfied. She indicated the chrono on the wall with a tilt of her head, and shot him a fragile smirk. “Finished. In record time!”

Sabine gathered up the device and headed out, taking it to Kanan. Zeb lingered for a few more minutes in the room, allowing himself a moment to dwell in the past.

He hadn’t told her the end of the story. He hadn’t told her that when the Empire came, he failed his duty as captain of the Honor Guard—that in the long run, his people had been wrong to trust him, and had all died for their mistake. Lasan was gone, and ultimately their trust in him had meant nothing at all.

Better to leave stories unfinished; they always ended in tragedy anyway. But the kit didn’t need that right now, and so Zeb let himself pretend, just for a little longer, that he lived in a galaxy with happy endings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I have now finished watching Season 2. Brb crying about Twilight of the Apprentice...


	3. Chapter 3

As she went to bring the pacer to Kanan, Sabine found herself still musing over her conversation with Zeb. It was unusual for Zeb to volunteer information about his previous life, and she would never ask. They all had their secrets; the _Ghost_ was full of ghosts from the past. But even so, she was pretty sure that there was no such person as Zeb’s friend “Jogan”—there was just Zeb, sharing his own story, at a distance. Under different circumstances, she might have made fun of the pseudonym—Zeb had a habit of basing all his codenames on fruit—but at the moment she wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Sabine paused in the hallway, contemplating where to find Kanan. Maybe he should have been in his cabin, saving his strength, but chances were he had insisted on staying with Ezra. Sabine crossed over to Zeb and Ezra’s shared room, knocked quietly, and palmed open the door. She had guessed right: Kanan and Ezra were both there, resting on the lower bunk. Chopper was keeping an eye on them from the corner of the room, quiet for once and not complaining.

There wasn’t exactly a lot of space on the bunk, and Ezra and Kanan were nestled close together. It reminded Sabine of a famous painting by Byrlaw the Elder, _Sleep and his Half-Brother Death_. Not that Kanan and Ezra were really like brothers—more like father and son, but even that wasn’t quite right. They were something else, something different, and yet still family. Her thoughts drifted back to that mission at the communications tower, when Ezra had connected with a loth-cat to take out a probe droid, and Kanan had been so proud. “Good thinking, _padawan_ ,” he had said, and Ezra had beamed as bright as a supernova. Sabine had rolled her eyes at the time, but even she could tell: their master-padawan bond was something really special.

In any case, family dynamics aside, they still reminded her of _Sleep and his Half-Brother Death_. The positioning wasn’t quite the same—Ezra was lying flat on his back after his spinal injection, unlike his counterpart in the painting—but it was close enough. His head was tipped towards Kanan, who in turn had his arm curled protectively around the boy. Kanan himself was sitting with his back against the wall, wan and sweaty, legs stretched out and head tilted slightly back. Neither of them stirred as she entered the room.

Based on the names of the figures in the painting, Ezra would be Sleep. But Ezra looked a little too still to just be sleeping. Most of the time (and often to Sabine’s annoyance), he was a person of perpetual motion. Even when asleep, he tended to be restless and disruptive, if Zeb’s grumblings on the topic were anything to go by. But right now he was as still as a holograph, and it was almost eerie. Sabine watched for several drawn-out seconds, convincing herself of the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Of course, if Ezra was Sleep, then Kanan would have to represent Death. It was perhaps more fitting than Sabine would like. If her pacer turned out not to work, then Kanan may well have condemned himself when he gave up the bacta for Ezra. Ezra wouldn’t thank him for that, if he woke up and Kanan was—

She shied away from the thought. Her pacer would work. It had to.

All of a sudden Sabine realized that Kanan was awake (though he hadn’t moved an inch), and was looking at her through half-lidded eyes. Maybe he’d been awake the whole time; It could be hard sometimes to tell whether he was asleep, or just meditating.

“Pacer’s ready,” she said softly. “How did Ezra’s injection go?”

Kanan was quiet for a long moment. Finally he said, “It was hard to watch. Never easy to see the people you care about hurting.” He looked down and ran his fingers through Ezra’s hair, before adding, “But it went fine. Fulcrum—Ahsoka—has steady hands.”

Sabine nodded briskly. “Ezra always bounces back,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt. “Just like you. But we should probably hurry up and get your heart back into rhythm.”

“All right,” said Kanan. “Let’s do this in my cabin, so we don’t disturb Ezra. But someone had better stay with him, too.”

Chopper volunteered from the corner of the room, but Sabine shook her head at him. “I need you to come help with the pacing,” she said. She heard heavy footsteps behind her, and turned to see Zeb leaning against the doorway. “I can look after the kit,” he said gruffly.

“Thanks, Zeb,” breathed Kanan, struggling to push himself off the bunk.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” cautioned Sabine, rushing over as Chopper burbled in alarm. “Let us help you.” It said something worrying about how weak he must have felt when Kanan actually acquiesced. She looked up at Zeb, who was hovering awkwardly. “Where’s Hera? I could use a hand helping Kanan to the other room, while you stay with Ezra.”

It was Kanan who answered, sounding faint. “She’s in the cockpit. She and… Ahsoka… got a call about adjusting our course.”

“I’m here now, love,” said Hera, leaning into the room. Sabine saw some of the tension release from Kanan’s shoulders; it looked like he was gaining strength just from hearing her voice. Hera came closer and rested both hands on his shoulders. “Now it’s time to let _us_ take care of _you_ , for a change.”

Maneuvering Kanan to his cabin wasn’t easy, but they somehow managed it. He was breathing hard and shaking by the time they propped him up against some pillows in his bed, though he didn’t acknowledge their worried glances. Sabine set about connecting Chopper to the pacer so that he could report the results, while Hera helped Kanan take off his pauldron and his favorite green jumper. Out of the corner of her eye, Sabine thought she saw him smirking flirtatiously at Hera, but he decided to keep any smart remarks to himself. Or maybe he just didn’t have the breath to spare.

In any case, any semblance of mirth evaporated as they began to place the pacer’s pads and monitoring leads over his bruised chest. Kanan stiffened and began to breathe even faster, which couldn’t have been good in his condition. By way of distraction, Sabine asked nonchalantly, “So where did Fulcrum go? Ahsoka, I mean.”

Hera replied, “She thought we could use a little privacy. She’s around if we need her, but she knows our crew hasn’t been whole in a while—she figured we could use a little time just for ourselves.”

“Thoughtful of her,” remarked Sabine, and Kanan nodded in agreement. She checked the position of the last monitor lead, then said, “All right, you’re all set. I’ll just get you a sedative, and then we can start—”

“ _No_ ,” shouted Kanan forcefully, and they all looked at him in surprise. Even Chopper rolled back a bit, bewildered. There was no mistaking the anxiety in Kanan’s eyes now, as he gripped the edge of his bed with white knuckles. He swallowed, and in a lower voice said, “I don’t want the sedative.”

“But Kanan—” Sabine’s voice broke, and she had to start again. “Kanan, it’s going to hurt.”

Kanan shook his head firmly. “You won’t hurt me, Sabine. Just—no drugs. No drugs. _Please._ ” He was trying to hold onto the remnants of that reassuring Kanan façade, but the note of desperation in his voice betrayed him. This was Kanan pleading, almost begging.

Hera drew close to him, pushing back some stray hair that had fallen into his face. “Kanan, I know you don’t like sedatives. But I don’t want you to suffer through electrical shocks… _again_.”

He reached up to take her hand. “I won’t be suffering this time, Hera. Not when I’m with you.” Kanan looked earnestly into her eyes for a long while, and something seemed to pass between the two of them.

Feeling like she was intruding on a private moment, Sabine turned away and busied herself with double and triple checking the pacer’s settings. But sooner rather than later, there was nothing left to do, and no excuse to delay any further.

“All right, Specter 1,” said Sabine, all business and mentally geared-up for this mission. “You ready?”

Kanan chuckled grimly. “I’ll be honest, I’d been hoping my heart would fix itself by now. It did before, I think… When Ezra found me, I’m pretty sure I was in misrhythm. But it got better just in time so that I could fight the Inquisitor, at least for a little while.”

“Adrenaline?” wondered Sabine.

“Or the Force?” asked Hera.

He shrugged a shoulder; even that small motion seemed to take a lot of effort. “Whatever it was, it’s not doing the trick now. So I guess I’m as ready as I’m going to be.” He smiled at Sabine, and even in that tense, pale face, the gesture somehow bolstered her resolve. “Take it away, Specter 5.”

She pressed the button.

It was distinctly unpleasant to watch. The force of the shock made his entire chest jump to the rhythm of the pacer, over and over and over again. Kanan gasped sharply the first time, as if choking back a scream, and he couldn’t hide a grimace as he clenched Hera’s hand.

Sabine hadn’t been an Imperial cadet for nothing. She knew what happened to captured enemies of the Empire, and she knew a thing or two about electrical torture. She even knew her way around the electrical torture devices the Empire tended to use; there was a reason why she was familiar with the kind of wiring needed to make a pacer, after all. Pacing like this without any kind of sedation was bound to hurt, even under the best of circumstances, due to the strength of the involuntary muscle contractions. And with Kanan’s heavy bruising and broken rib, the pain must have been excruciating. Sabine knew that at the end of all this, she would probably find new burns on his skin where the pacer leads had been. After more than a week of torture, she couldn’t imagine how he could stand the pain, let alone the memories.

And yet. The color was coming back into his face, a warm tan rather than dusty gray. He was beginning to breathe properly again, for what seemed like the first time in hours. And when he turned his head towards Sabine and smiled at her, there was relief in his eyes—not fear, and not blame.

Choking back her own emotion, Sabine nudged their droid. “Chop, what’s the status?” Chopper reported back what she could already see: the pacer was working. Kanan’s heart was back in rhythm and he was out of immediate danger, at least for now.

“You did it, Sabine,” said Hera, her voice practically glowing with warmth.

“Was there any ever doubt?” she deflected, borrowing a classic Ezra line. Maybe it would lighten the mood. (As if she herself hadn’t been drowning in self-doubt less than an hour ago.)

“Never,” said Hera fiercely.

Kanan nodded his agreement. “The Jedi believe in trusting in the Force. And if there’s one thing living on the _Ghost_ with all of you has taught me, it’s that trusting the Force means trusting the people the Force has brought into my life, too. It means trusting you. And I do.”

He reached out a hand; she took it. “Thank you, Sabine, for saving my life.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the 4th be with y'all. One more chapter after this!
> 
> P.S. In case you're interested, here's the painting Sabine was thinking of, by John William Waterhouse: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep_and_his_Half-brother_Death#/media/File:Waterhouse-sleep_and_his_half-brother_death-1874.jpg


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Mild spoilers for the Kanan comic.

Ezra was suddenly wide awake, between one heartbeat and the next. Even without opening his eyes, he could tell he was somewhere unfamiliar. There was something funny about the place’s background noise, for starters. It took a moment for him to realize that the light, constant hum of the _Ghost’s_ engines was absent, replaced by a deeper rumbling; he must be on some larger ship, then. It smelled strange, too—the scent was hard to place, but it was sort of sterile and a little fruity. Ezra himself was lying down on a firm, but not uncomfortable surface, and his body felt heavy in a way that suggested he had been lying there for a long time. But he had no idea how he had gotten here (wherever _here_ was), and his most recent memories seemed to be slipping away from his grasp. He opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a giant, purple face staring down at him.

_Now_ there’s _a familiar stench_ , thought Ezra distantly, as Zeb gave his shoulder a rough pat.

“Good to see you finally awake, kid!” said Zeb. “You had us—erm, I mean, you had Hera pretty worried about you. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” he said automatically. It wasn’t exactly true; he still felt that anxious, twisting dread in the pit of his stomach that had been plaguing him for the past few weeks, like his insides were tying themselves up in knots. But you didn’t survive on the streets like Ezra had by admitting that sort of thing to people. By now, keeping his weaknesses to himself was a habit.

“How’s your head?” Zeb pressed.

“My head…?” Ezra echoed, reaching up to touch it—and suddenly everything that had happened over the past few days came rushing back. He sat bolt upright, nearly bumping heads with Zeb in the process.

“Kanan! Where is he? Is he okay? I need to find him, he’ll want to see that I’m all right—”

Zeb shook his head. “Sorry kid, but Kanan can’t see anyone right now.”

Ezra froze. Everything seemed very far away all of a sudden, and he wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. He was back in the Jedi Temple on Lothal, watching the Inquisitor kick his master into an abyss. He was back in his nightmares, not finding Kanan until he had already been tortured to death. He was—

“Ezra. Ezra! _Ezra!_ ” Zeb was somehow in front of him again, giant hands steadying his shoulders. “Breathe.” Ezra let in a shuddering gasp, more out of reflexive obedience than anything else. He looked up at Zeb, blue eyes wide and desperate. The Lasat’s craggy face softened. “Kanan is _fine_. Sorry to scare you, kid. It’s just he’s in a bacta tank right now, so he’s not properly awake. But he’ll be good as new after a few days of treatment, don’t you worry.”

“Actually,” said Hera, gliding into the room, “he’s coming out of bacta right now.” Zeb stepped back so she could approach; Hera placed a gentle hand to the left side of Ezra’s face and gave him a searching look. “How are you feeling?”

“Never been better. Can I see Kanan now?”

Ezra was so full of worried energy that he was practically vibrating. Hera frowned a little, and said, “I know you want to see him, but I think the doctor should check you first. Or at least a med droid.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off first: “You were seriously injured, Ezra. You’ve been unconscious for three days, and for half that time you were in a bacta tank yourself.”

This gave him pause, for a moment at least. “ _Three days?_ ” he said, bewildered. He’d left his master alone that long?

Hera nodded, pressing a button on the wall to fetch a med droid. “To be honest, the medics were expecting your recovery to take longer. But you and Kanan both have been healing quicker than most people do.” She hesitated, then added, “Maybe it’s the Force, looking out for you.”

Ezra was quiet for a moment, processing this. He didn’t _feel_ seriously injured, but he supposed he had Kanan to thank for that. If not for Kanan letting him use the last of their bacta, back on the _Ghost_ , he might well be dead. Speaking of…

“Where are we now?” Ezra asked. “And since when do we have enough bacta for a whole tank?”

Hera perched on the side of the bed as she replied, “We’re on the _Phoenix Home_ , the command ship of a major Rebel cell. While we were on the way to this rendezvous point, Ahsoka made some calls. She warned the rest of the group about the situation, so that by the time we arrived, they had the necessary supplies and medical personnel ready.”

For the first time since waking up, Ezra took a moment to look around the room properly. Of course, he was in a medbay. That explained the smell: bacta and disinfectant. As a med droid bustled in and began to examine him—a more advanced model than the previous MD-18 unit—Ezra tried to wrap his head around the new state of his universe. The _Ghost_ crew wasn’t alone anymore. They had other rebels looking out for them. They were a _cell_ , they were part of a larger fight—and he began to dare to hope, maybe it was even a fight they could win.

Finally, after far too long (even if it was only five or ten minutes), the med droid declared him fit to leave. Ezra jumped off the bed and dashed away to find Kanan, before anyone could protest. He didn’t need anyone to tell him where his master was; ever since reaching out to find Kanan on that Star Destroyer, their bond had been strong and vivid in the Force.

As he hurried along, Ezra tried to temper his expectations. Kanan might not be up for much conversation; after all, sometimes the after-effects of bacta left people feeling out of sorts for a while. Of course, the last time Kanan had been in a bacta tank, he had immediately emerged in top fighting form and sprung into action to rescue the rest of them from the Empire. But then once they were out of danger, he had been irritable and sore, and had slept more than usual for a week.

Ezra shook his head fiercely. He didn’t want to think about the last time Kanan had been in a bacta tank, or the circumstances leading up to it. But he couldn’t help but remember. It was as if the image had been seared into his mind: Kanan, lying lifeless in an abandoned warehouse, prone in a puddle of his own blood. It had been the first time Ezra had seen Kanan badly hurt, the first time he’d really seen him as anything less than invincible. Just thinking about it brought back the fear that sometimes took hold of his heart like ice—especially now, when he had come so close to losing Kanan again.

He came to the room where Kanan was, and nearly faltered at the open doorway. Ezra had thought he’d rush in to greet him, but now it felt like his feet were frozen to the ground. It was uncomfortable to see Kanan in a hospital bed, eyes closed, hair hanging loose and damp around his face, wearing a flimsy med-robe instead of his usual clothes and armor. It almost seemed like he was someone else, some stranger with a passing resemblance to Kanan, because how could his master ever look this fragile? But at least he didn’t seem so weak and pale anymore; that was a relief. The bacta must have done its job.

Ezra let his lids flutter shut as he reached out tentatively in the Force. Before, when he had sensed Kanan on the Star Destroyer, he had felt raw and ragged, stretched to the breaking point with nothing left to give. But now he just seemed peaceful, if a little sleepy. Ezra let out a sigh of relief and opened his eyes, and found that Kanan was looking back at him.

“Ezra,” Kanan said, and that was invitation enough. Ezra flung himself into Kanan’s arms.

In that moment, everything felt right; all the broken pieces fell into place. But it didn’t last long. Ezra found that he was getting tangled in a jumble of wires stuck to Kanan’s chest, and he couldn’t suppress a cold spark of fear. He leaned away. “Kanan, what…?”

Kanan shook his head reassuringly. “They’re still monitoring me, just to be safe. But I’m fine. Are _you_ okay?” He traced a hand over Ezra’s cheekbone, and Ezra almost drew back in surprise before remembering.

“Oh,” he said. “I forgot. It doesn’t even hurt, anymore. And I barely even have a headache.”

But Kanan was still staring at his scarred cheek, and his eyes were sad. “Looks that bad, huh?” joked Ezra, trying not to wince in embarrassment. “I haven’t seen a mirror yet.”

“What? No! No, of course not,” said Kanan. “It looks fine.  And those scars should fade in the long run, anyway. It’s just…” He sighed heavily. “It’s just I should have protected you. And I couldn’t do it, and you got hurt because of it.”

Ezra blinked at him incredulously. “But Kanan, you _did_ protect me. Back at the comm tower. And even before that, with everything you’ve been teaching me about the Force, and how to be a Jedi. With you training me, I’m safer now than I’ve ever been in my life!”

If anything, Kanan looked even sadder at that, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he changed the subject. “I’m just glad you’re okay, kid,” he said, tightening his arms around Ezra’s shoulders.

Ezra pulled his head away, so he could glare properly. “Yeah, but you aren’t.”

“Ezra, the medics here are top notch, and the bacta did its job. I’m okay.”

“But you weren’t before.”

“But I am now.”

Ezra groaned in frustration. “Okay, but what if something happens again? And what if, what if next time—what if I’m too late, what if you’re—” He couldn’t get the next words out. To his utter mortification, Ezra began to feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He buried his head against Kanan’s chest again—partly for the comfort of the nearness, but partly so he wouldn’t see him cry. Hunched over like this, Ezra couldn’t see Kanan’s face when he replied, but he heard his voice resonating deep through his rib cage.

“Ezra. I don’t make a lot of promises, but I promise you this: everything will be okay in the end. And if it’s not okay? That just means it’s not the end. When I lost my—” Kanan stopped for a moment and swallowed. “When the Jedi were destroyed, I thought nothing could ever be okay again. But then I met Hera. And Zeb, and Sabine. And you.”

“And Chopper,” interjected Ezra, voice muffled against Kanan’s med-robe.

“And Chopper,” agreed Kanan, making a face. “But you see what I’m saying? If I decided that was the end of the story and gave up back then, I would have missed out on so much. I would have missed out on you.”

Ezra finally looked up. “You’re saying I should have hope.”

“I’m saying it’s not over till it’s over,” Kanan said, smiling. “And you know what, kid? It’s not over yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is over, though. ;) Thanks so much for reading! It's been a long time since I've written any fanfic, so I appreciate you guys for sticking with me and encouraging me to finish!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Not sure when I'll be able to update next, but I do have an outline.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing in this fic should remotely be taken as medical advice. Yikes.


End file.
